Universe is Laughing
by arachnophilia
Summary: Karen Page is dead. MJ and Peter are in the middle of a divorce. What's worse? There's a war brewing, and nobody even knows it yet. Daredevil/Spider-Man. MJ/Black Cat. High rating. Pre-Civil War.


_A/N: Originally I was just going to stop and stay stopped, but it's been three years since Red and I STILL get messages about it. And you're all so nice about it and there are people on tumblr who are like "Red was my favorite!" and you just broke me. You're all lovely. But it got me thinking about what I would do if I did continue it, or start it over, and then I got an arc in my head and this sort of vomited out._

_So this is the reboot of Red. I wrote Red when I was 18 and I'm 21 now, so I thought it was best to just start over with a new perspective and run with it. I'm basically saying "screw canon, I do what I want!" because matching up Peter and Matt's timelines is friggin' hard because none of Matt's writers pre-Waid seem to want to collaborate with everyone else, and OMD was such a steaming pile of shit. It's Pre-Civil War; Matt is from before his relationship with Milla during Bendis's run._

_There will be gay things (with lube this time!), more gay things (with vaginas this time!), a Civil War story arc, and hopefully you'll like this one as much as the last one. Enjoy!_

Karen Page is dead.

It's a fact of life now. Everyone finds their way back to life in if they wear a suit, but it's a courtesy the universe doesn't extend to the people they get killed. Karen had a violent end to a violent life, and while Matt's not necessarily all right, he's made it past the worst moments.

Life goes on. There are villains and lawsuits to deal with. Luke and Jessica both left ages ago, Jessica because of her pregnancy, Luke because of the New Avengers. Now he has Dakota, trailing after him as his mostly-for-show bodyguard and his not-so-much-for-show babysitter from time to time. She's a good woman, close friends with Jessica, and she joins Nelson & Murdock as one more blunt, no bullshit person between Matt and self-destruction. Mostly.

"I didn't know they still let you operate solo. Don't they have you under contract or keep your balls in a jar somewhere?" Matt reaches over, stealing the bag of takeout out of Peter's arms. Peter makes a sad sound, making a move to steal it back before Matt swats at his hands. Peter knows all the best places to get cheap food, even if some of it seems questionable at best.

"Nah. Only Tony. Everyone else gets to do what they want." Cracking open his soda, Peter tugs up his mask so he can drink it. "He and Steve are too busy fighting over the remote to keep tabs on the rest of us."

"Why am I not surprised." Matt bites the finger of his glove, tugging it off so he can feel around the food without getting dirty leather all over it. Tonight it's from a Chinese place Matt's never heard of, and it smells alternately unhealthy and heavenly. Wasn't that always the way, though? He takes a carton and sniffs it, pushing the bag back into Peter's hands when he's satisfied.

"It's not that bad. Luke still trolls around Harlem, doesn't he? It's pretty cool." Peter takes his food and leaves the bag on the roof, digging into his messy lo mein with chopsticks. "No paycheck, though. I still work days. It's exhausting, but hey, not like I was making any money at this superhero thing anyway, right?"

"If we got paid we might get uppity," Matt says flatly.

"Not that you'd have a problem putting your name on a paycheck, right? It's already in the papers." Peter's probably giving him a snotty little grin, but Matt can't see it. Too bad.

"You know, Spidey, sometimes you make it hard not to push you off the roof."

"You're welcome."

Matt snorts. He settles into his food, trying to ignore the fact that Peter is stuffing food into his face like he's never seen it before. Something smells a little off about him tonight. Hn. "How's the wife?"

Peter stiffens and stops eating. "Not my wife," he says uneasily. "Well, not yet. We're still in the _process_. Tip, though: if you want to get married, don't get divorced. It's expensive and, you know, hurts like hell."

"MJ left you?" Matt actually can't believe it. No wonder he smells off; Peter always smells a little bit like Mary Jane. Her shampoo, or her perfume if she wears any that day, or her general ... MJ-ness. They've been together for so long that Matt forgot that certain notes of Peter's scent are actually MJ.

"Yeah." And no quip. Jeez, did Matt hit a sore spot or what?

There's a bit of silence. There are things to say when someone dies, or if they're brainwashed or kidnapped or any of the other superhero-related things that happen to their friends and family. Divorce? Some of them probably don't even know what that word means. Peter is more sad than angry. His heartbeat says that he feels guilty, but he isn't bitter.

"Something happened," Matt ventures.

"Yeah, something happened." Peter pokes at his food, rearranging it in the carton with no intention to keep eating it. He sighs and says uncharacteristically, "I don't really want to talk about it."

Matt almost pushes. Almost. Even if they're in the middle of a divorce, it could've been last week or last year. Still ... yeah, maybe not now. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it."

Sometimes after a show, all MJ wants is a beer. She's playing Joanne in an off-Broadway production of RENT; it's a great show, but it's tiring, even if she's not the one jumping on chairs or wearing leather pants. So after a long Sunday (double show, God sometimes she wonders why she does this), she goes to a dive of a bar around the corner from the theater with a few other cast members.

One by one, they all find something else to do. Roger needs to sleep, Mark has to get back to his boyfriend, Angel needs a shower. MJ's Maureen, a leggy Asian woman named Lilah, sticks around the longest and leaves more than a little drunk, hanging on MJ until her cab comes.

Eventually she's left alone in a bar with a few other men. Her beer is half empty, the foam clinging to the glass. She doesn't expect to talk to anyone but the bartender for the rest of the night, but a woman sidles up to her at the bar and takes the seat next to her. MJ glances up and immediately frowns.

_Felicia_.

"Hi." MJ doesn't make an effort to sound friendly. She knows that if she takes a swing, she'll probably break something. Peter's told her about Felicia's bad luck aura. "What do you want, Felicia?"

Felicia grins without a hint of friendliness. "I heard you and Spider broke up. I just wanted to see how you were doing after he left."

MJ snorts and goes back to her beer. All right, whatever. For some reason, the reminder of her divorce is less upsetting and more irritating coming from Felicia goddamn Hardy. "I left him, as if it's any of your business. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"I came to see your show." She's practically purring. MJ glances over again, wishing Felicia was just a _little_ less attractive. She's in a low cut top, and MJ is sure that those breasts are not naturally that round. So. Expensive bra. Expensive shirt. Expensive tight jeans. Probably stole someone's credit card to pay for all of it. (Peter's told her that Felicia's legit these days, working as a PI, but MJ is single enough to think whatever she wants.) "You were good. You play a very good lesbian. Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"For Christ's sake." MJ pulls her pocketbook out of her purse. "Go away."

"You're so rude."

"You're just here to be a bitch. Why wouldn't I be rude?"

Felicia doesn't even seem bothered. Hell, she's practically preening. "How does it feel to finally lose, MJ?"

"You can't lose at _people_, Felicia." MJ sighs. She doesn't have time for this, so she gathers up her purse and slides off the chair. "Grow up."


End file.
